


Listen, Sweetie

by NicoleTheHardyLover



Category: Alfie Solomons - Fandom, Peaky Blinders
Genre: F/M, Fanfic, Fluff, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-06
Updated: 2018-06-20
Packaged: 2018-12-12 03:31:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11728593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NicoleTheHardyLover/pseuds/NicoleTheHardyLover
Summary: Just some smut and fluff.Extended one-shot.





	1. Dorothy

The kitchen looks like a bomb site. And yes I have had the displeasure of being witness to an actual bomb site because it was only a year and a half ago when the great world war had dramatically ceased and desisted. Thanks be to Jesus. 

This type of bomb site however is caused by my children, three little bleeders, the bane of my existence, the needling on my nerves, and also my entire fucking world. 

Instead of dust and rubble explosions though, today I can see nothing of my surfaces underneath due to piles of wooden toys, leftover food and tiny hand shaped stickiness, all leading to the unbearable squalor and mess that surrounds me just now. It's a wonder we don't have mice, but of course our house is probably far too noisy. My husband will not be happy to return to his home in this state, and so now the children are finally asleep, my work has to start all over again. 

With a bucket full of Lysol and luke-warm water, I use the scraps of cloth to polish and shine the floor down on my knees, my thoughts soon drifting to the bairns sleeping peacefully upstairs in their cots. 

William, Elliott and Emily Solomons = my three children. I really am blessed, despite the hardship I face by being a stay-at-home mother, the rewards of raising an upstanding Jewish family are more than fruitfully worth it.  
Us Solomons are a respected, pivotal and envied part of the London Jewish community. 

I mostly have it together, running the household often alone due to the ungodly hours my husband puts into the family business, but he often risks his life and freedom to literally bake the bread that sits at our table and I couldn't be more thankful for that. He's a good man, a noble man, well indeed not to some, but definitely and always to me.

Alfred Abraham Solomons the Third. Baker. Rum extraordinaire. Father to my children. A Gabbai at the local synagogue. Brutal gangster. And my soulmate. However Bless that very soul, because he's made for damnation that one. 

*

I soak for a good hour and a half in the tub, dousing both my body and hair in the tee-tree oil that he loves.  
He told me once that he likes me to smell clinical because it reminds him of the time we met when I was a nurse tending to injured soldiers. Tending to him.  
He swept me off my feet three years ago when he was brought into my ward for treatment on his shot leg and facial wounds.  
He was fresh back from Flanders, having being patched back together by French medics who had to have been either drunk or downright unqualified because they had done a piss-poor job of stitching up his face. They left him with a tramline scar across his handsome cheek, separating the hair in his heavy beard.  
And his poor leg too, that was more than mangled and I hadn't been entirely sure he would walk well again, but of course I had underestimated the man, because in a matter of weeks he was left with nothing but determination to make me his wife and a slight, barely detectable limp. 

He does like to play on that disability though, and I laugh at this fact quietly as I rise from the tub onto the fluffy towel shielding the tile floor from the water droplets.  
He badgers me to rub his leg sometimes when we sit together in the lounge, always when I've just asked him to stand and wash the pots or to take out the rubbish to the end of the street. 

"Woman's work" he often says. 

"I have a bad leg" he often says. 

"Rub it for me dolly" he often says. 

Of course I always do, right after I've washed the pots and taken out the rubbish, because I'm a good wife. He tells me that a lot. He tells me it when his children stand quietly well behaved in the line for the synagogue on Sundays, or when he returns home to a shiny kitchen floor and a fresh batch of matzo ball broth with kreplach dumplings.  
He also tells me it late at night, when he asks me to take his penis into my mouth and suck it until he ejaculates.  
At that point he usually tells me I'm a VERY good wife. 

*

After kissing the three year old twin boys atop of their downy heads, I make my way to Emily's room where I replace the comforter she often kicks off during sleep. I blow out the oil lamp she needs lit in order to drift off and leave the door ajar so she doesn't get scared. She's only eighteen months old, and what with her teething at the moment she sometimes wakes up and shouts for me or Alfie more than once through the night. 

As I climb into bed I wonder if I should read a book. I'm reading one about a lady who wants to be prime minister at the moment, and while it has my attention I often laugh at the barking mad ideology of it. A woman running the country, how absolutely ridiculous. I love the notion and am very much a feminist but always have been a realist too and I know that men would never allow it to even come to be and so it makes me chuckle. 

In the end the exhaustion from the day of child rearing, tedious chores and cooking make my decision for me, and although I really would like to wait up for my husbands's return, my eyes just don't cooperate and I'm soon sound asleep beneath the covers of my marriage bed.


	2. Alfie

Fucking pikey gypsy scum, Forever on my last fucking nerve. I can't think of anywhere else in the world I would rather not have been today. Give me Flanders. Give me a fucking trench or a stretcher, but don't give me Arthur fucking Shelby. Please don't give me that.   
I have to deal with him a lot, because his brother is often away with the missus playing happy families, and delegating my rum or diamond deals to his unpredictable and stupid older brother who can barely string a sentence together on a good day. 

Well it was dealt with now, probably won't have to see him again for a good month and even that was too soon for me.  
All I wanted to do is break bread at the table with my Dolly and then climb under the comforter to ravish her, but instead I'm halfway through the tedious drive back to Camden Town and it's already past ten 'o clock in the evening. She'll already be dutifully asleep by now i'll bet.  
If it wasn't for the Shelby's constantly fucking with my existence, I could spend a lot less time up in the smog of Birmingham  and a lot more time with my cock in my wife. 

Shits they were. Caravan loving pricks. 

"You say somettt boss?" Ollie heckled at me. 

"No, no I didn't, keep yer eyes on the road boy" I chastised him. My mood was foul and he often bore the brunt of it. 

"Only about twenty miles out now Alfie, should be back to the Bakery in about half an hour, if the road stays smooth" he replied nervously. 

"Gmmmph" I grunted back at him. Half an hour too long in my book. Someone really should invent a motor that went faster than 45mph, or better still, pave the roads free of potholes and cobbles so you didn't feel like you were riding a damn mare the whole way.   
It gave me fucking motion sickness this thing it bumped around so much, and I could do without that right now because my stomach was rumbling louder than the shit, tin-box engine. 

As I watched the outline of country walls, and looked further across to the faint silhouette of city lights that made London in the distance, my mind flittered as it often did to my Dolly.   
Fuck if I didn't miss the woman. And the three delightful sprogs of Satan she had given me. I have to allow myself a silent chuckle as I think of those three tykes.  
Will, Ell and Emmy. Two strapping boys to keep the Solomons name and a princess to keep the missus happy.   
My soft spot really did lay in her though, dark curls just like her mother, and my   
eyes, green pools of know-it-all magic that could charm anyone they clapped their sights on. Well they Charmed her mother alright. 

I remember charming her well. It was hard work. Miss Dorothy Esther Abrahams. The young curvaceous nurse with the big brown eyes that seemed to look right through me and all of my bravado.  
She was all consumed in her work at first, and refused my advances for weeks before agreeing to go out with me. I found out later it was because she was already courting some other Jewish ratshart that I wanted to grip by the throat for even looking at her when I saw them together at the local brewery.   
She said I was maybe a little old for her, and that my name put the shivers through her body and I had told her quietly "listen sweetie, my cock would too" which had caused her to spit half her drink across the bar and excuse herself to the ladies room. It's a shock she even accepted a date after my bad manners but my Dolly always did love a bit of Taboo.

"You got yourself a woman or what Ollie?.. Or are ya in preference of gentleman is that it?" I asked the young lad who was employed for my bidding.  
I wouldn't mind if he was homosexual but I wouldn't sit so close to him next time if he was.

"Yes Alfie. I mean no to the men Alfie, but yes I have a lady friend" he spluttered, his eyes darting from me back to the road again and his cheeks developing a crimson sheen.

"What's her name?" I asked him, intrigued now. Who would agree to go out with a fumbling Mophead like tall Ollie? who had more freckles than he could ever have conversation starters. I bet she looked like a pigs arse. 

"Sara, she's called Sara, Sir" he answered me. 

"She let you between her legs for a rut yet, son?" I said, delving into my inner coat pocket for my smokes. 

I heard Ollie take a sharp intake of breath and felt the car swerve to the left a good few inches as I lit my cigarette with a match, cupped in my hands. I blew out the smoke and watched him, my expression disguised amusement and my moustache twitching with my smirk. 

"No. Beg your pardon sir, she ... she ain't that type of lady sir. She's proper and educated and from a nice family. She wants to wait" Ollie stuttered in a high-pitched tone. 

"Riiiiiight" I replied seriously.   
"Well then your gonna have to take her down the middle aisle I think mate, I'm being honest here" I nodded solemnly despite his eyes being focused on the road. 

"Cos your driving this thing so slow I think your weighing us down with those heavy fucking balls between your legs sweetie" I laughed, slapping him across the shoulder and making him visibly twitch. Heavy handed I was, didn't mean nothing by it. 

I carried on chuckling as we turned a corner and London drew ever closer. 

"And I tell you what mine aren't far off either, haven't bent my missus over in almost a week because of those Irish bastards up there, so get me home Ollie. I need my belly filling and my scrotum emptying mate".

He put his foot down. 

*

As I fumbled with the key in the lock and fed my booted feet through the dark doorway, I nearly fell over the black lab curled up on the entrance mat. 

"Out the fuckin way darky" I grumbled lowly as I flung my arms wildly and propped my cane against the wall.   
After taking my coat off and hanging it on the hook I nearly fell over the mutt again in the same place as before.   
"Darky!" I said, louder this time, and what I hoped was more authoritatively. The thing still didn't budge.   
It never bloody listened to me, we got it two years ago when Dolly was up the duff and nesting plentifully. She got someone in to do the garden, and build a dog house before I even got a chance to say no. I fell soft and chose the black-furred Labrador myself as her birthday present but remember drawing the line when she wanted to call it sooty. Fucking sooty, it was a boy, and it would likely be a strapping beast of a dog to guard her when I wasn't there. I couldn't command a "sooty" to maim and kill an intruder. 

So I called him Darky. Suited the nature he was supposed to have better didn't it? However since he never fucking listened to me anyway I'm convinced she calls him sooty when I ain't fucking here. Which is a lot. I'm away a lot. So That's my fault. 

In the end I step over him and feel my way to the kitchen, lighting the oil lamp that sits by the pantry door.   
It's a bit late to be lighting the stove but I can see a massive pot of grub sitting on the copper unit and like fuck I'm passing up a meal when I haven't eaten since the morning.   
I'd eat darky right now if he'd fucking come to me when I called. 

I loosen a few buttons on my shirt and take down my braces, leaving them to dangle at my sides as I light the thing and leave the pot to start bubbling. It smells like some tomato matzo balls and I look around in case she made some of those mini pastrami pancakes she did last week, instead finding a tub of dumplings drizzled with oil and herbs that make my mouth water. She really is a fucking keeper. Feeds me and sucks me like a king she does and I love her for it.   
As I sit and eat my broth at the table with the brandy I probably poured too excessively for this late hour, I ponder the talk of women that goes on at the bakery.   
The workers moan and complain all the time about their wives giving them earache or ballache with their constant gum beating or locking of legs.   
See I can't sympathise with that because there ain't ever a time I've told her to shut up or a time she's told me I can't have her the way I want to have her. We've always been mad for each other, that's why we had to get married after seven weeks of knowing one another because she didn't come on the rag. Pregnant with twins the doctor said by the time we were married, and I don't know what else we expected when we were laying together every waking hour that the day or night allowed.  
Just thinking of her insatiable appetite for me is causing me to stiffen in my britches under the table I eat her food at. It would be inconsiderate of me to get into bed and wake her up in order to fulfil my own selfish desires when she had probably being busy all of the day, but I've missed her. In the morning the kids will be strapped to her hips and there is no way I'm getting between them then. 

Wiping up the rest of my broth with the slabs of bread from my own bakery, I wash it down with the rest of the Brandy and place the lot in the sink, suppressing a belch as I blow out the oil lamp and ascend the stairs to the washroom in order to clean up.

After taking a slash and washing my hands and face, I peer round the doors of the children's nurseries and watch for the rise and fall of their tiny chests, just to ensure they are still breathing. Three little moving chests. Three lives I created still going strong. Cute little bastards. 

I tiptoe along the corridor and let myself into the bedroom, seeing the mound of covers that make up her body beneath them. I have to bite my lip to suppress the groan I want to let out at the sight of her pale skin and the silk strap of negligee she wears to bed. She'll have worn that on purpose. She always dresses up for when I get back, seductive temptress that she is, because I want her so bad and she knows it, I'd want to shag her if she wore a bin bag and she knows that too. 

When I've taken off my pants, undergarments and socks and am completely as god intended, I climb under the comforter gently and let my weight settle at the side of her. I can hear her breathing softly though she's facing the other way and so I peer under the covers and look at the shape of her backside, covered in silk I can see the split of it and I'm already aroused to the point of torture, between my legs. 

I wrap my arms around her, my beard settling into the crook of her neck and my erection pressing hot and heavy against her bum. I move her hair out of the way to access her ear as I feel her rousing and start to shuffle encased in my arms. 

I whisper In her ear and hear the gentle sigh she exhales as she pushes herself back against me. 

"Sweetie? I'm home." I whisper against her soft cheek.


	3. Dorothy

I can feel his hot breath on the skin of my neck, which is ironic because it gives me a cold chill over my entire body, making my fine hairs stand on end and my heart race instantly. 

Sometimes his presence is utterly calming to me. While I am no princess requiring a knight in shining armour, I always feel so protected in his arms again when he is home.   
Other times however, other times like this, he creates the opposite effect and sets my blood on fire, causing an instant dampness between my legs and a rush I can only liken to that of adrenaline.

I haven't worn any underwear to bed like I usually do when he's away from home. I often imagine intruders or the police attending the address in the middle of the night and so I always wear a gown and full undergarments. In contrast, when I expect Alfie back, I either sleep completely naked or pick out one of the silk slip sets that he loves to look at me in. Alfie's hands are rough and weathered, and I think he likes the feel of the feminine silk under his manly fingers. 

He asks me often if I will keep them on while we make love, and then he bunches the material in his fists at my hips as I sit astride his lap. That's one of our favourite positions, and we have a chair in the corner that's perfect to do it on, although there isn't many a position that doesn't feel fucking divine when Alfie is inside me. 

From the very first time to the very last, six days previously, he is everything I need him to be. Slow and passionate when the mood takes, or short, sharp and hard with my arse uncouthly in the air during others, he always seems to know what I need in any given moment and that's because he needs it too. It's because we're the same. 

He groans quietly into my ear.   
We have to be quiet now, which we hate, especially Alfie because he grunts and groans like a man possessed in his fits of passion and he struggles to restrain himself so as not to wake the young ones.   
Now he has to resort to the barely audible pants into my ear lobe as I undulate on him, or the whisper of sweet nothings as he pins me tightly beneath him to rut. 

I wonder breathlessly what we will end up like tonight, after his week long absence and wether he has any pent-up frustration to release like the last time. That time resulted in a red-palmed mark across the cheek of my behind for two full days, but I asked for it. I was a naughty girl and that was my intention because he loves it. And I love him.

I feel his hand reach round and come to rest on the small outline of the slope on my stomach, which makes me recoil slightly. I'm uncomfortable because I'm carrying more baby weight from Emily than I care to think about and so I take his larger hand in my own smaller one and move it further south of my body to where I need his fingers to be.

He instantly moves it back, caressing the roundness I have at my middle with his palm in smooth circles and I let my eyes close over as I feel his beard prickle at the sensitive skin of my neck as he whispers to me again. 

"You're beautiful Dolly.... let me feel all of you, this is where my babies grow innit?" he says with a growl of masculinity against me as he rubs around my tummy. He always makes me feel desired, he takes my biggest womanly insecurities and he makes them feeble even to my own mind. 

"I want to put another one in you" he pants breathlessly, his wanton need a hot and hard presence against the cool skin of my backside.   
"Let's make another baby eyyyy?" He says as he nudges his crotch against me with intent. I stay silent but my privates are burning in anticipation of his touch as they always do when he's teasing me with this kind of unabashed, scandalous pillow talk. He has a filthy mouth, and while at first it embarrassed me, I have always loved it in ways I can't explain.

"I wanna put my seed in you again, love. Yeaaaaah... want a spill so bad, I wanna feel your cunny wet with it..... feel it seeping out from you Dorothy.. down those pale thighs."   
Again I stay silent, the only sound audible is my heavy breaths that I can't seem to control.   
"Hark- don't deny a man" he urges gruffly, his angst is making him pushy and it's setting the tone of how I know he wants to take me right now. He wants me hard, I can tell, and I want the same. 

"Alf...." I moan gently as I push back on the hard length of his penis. I turn my body around to face him for the first time in such a long week and his eyes flash with desire when they lock on my own, just visible in the low light of the moon through a crack in the drapes.   
I can see the outline of his menacing hunched shoulders, though the scars he bears are invisible in the darkness they still remain hauntingly ever-present to the both of us. He wears them like trophies.   
His chest rises and falls in sync with my own and his hands are roaming, fingers tracing the outline of my own curves. He places his hands on my bum and pulls me into him so our privates meet in a joining of wiry hair. I'm slick for him, I can feel it on my thighs as he moves me. 

"You smell like hospitals sweetie, you trying to wreck a man? ... you know what that does to me. And these nightclothes..." he says tugging at the thin straps of silk on my shoulders and urging them down to reveal my breasts to him, still full of milk from Emmys evening feed. "You put this on for me huh? I like the pink sweetie..."

I smile, and he smiles back with his eyes crinkling at the sides as he cups my right breast in his palm, stroking at the rosy bud of nipple that is slightly raw from our daughter's sucking and takes it into his own mouth. I feel the tonic of his tongue, wet and slimy as he breathes hot breaths against the peak of it, placing it between his lips, pulling and then letting go to make my entire breast bounce. The wiriness of his beard is tickling, and I giggle as I push him off me. He doesn't budge, instead paying attention to my left nipple now and then I feel his hand needy and urgent against the moist folds of flesh between my legs as he probes between them to my bare opening, dipping just a finger tip inside to coat himself in my arousal. 

"Fuck me Dolly!!! You could draw me up a bath love, I ain't ever felt you so wet." He remarks as I moan against his teasing finger desperate for more friction. 

He pulls the comforter back, creating a draft that moves the curtains and more moonlight seeps through to illuminate us. 

He pulls my legs apart to stare between them and I feel the flush creep up my neck to redden my cheeks at the exposure. 

"Checking you ain't on the rag love.... because that's magic amounts of arousal that is, innit?" He says with wide eyes. 

"Alfie!" I laugh, slapping him playfully and attempting to reposition the comforter over my body, my legs closing. 

"Its just wetness though innit? Slick wetness all for me. I wanna wash my beard with it woman, come fucking here" he growls deeply, ripping the sheet away once more, opening my thighs and lowering his head between them. 

*

The sounds of my moans are quickly gaining noisy momentum and he keeps telling me to be quiet but I can't do that. He's placing his tongue on the most sensitive parts of my body and he's working me into a frenzy with it. He's torturing me in the most carnal way possible and he's asking me to be quiet while he does it. He's a madman.  
I feel hot, though it's November. Hot, achy and tight. I feel like I'm being wound up, like a jack-in-a-box wound so tight that the spring is about to flip it's release and scare the shit out of the person winding it.   
Although I couldn't scare Alfie, he would just wind me back in again, taking what he needs whilst giving me exactly what I do. 

The noises of his mouth on my flesh bring me further, it sounds filthy, and messy and when he suckles at my slick pearl, his finger tickling at other more forbidden entrances further down, I feel the build up of my desire start to quicken. 

"Alfie!" I gasp ... and he carries on relentless, his face buried deep into my mound and moving from side to side as he growls, licks, sucks and nibbles. He told me once that my cunny is his favourite meal, and then the very next Sunday he told me in front of his entire family that my Shabbat offering tasted as good as his favourite meal did, making me blush as his mother asked for the name of the dish.   
He calls it my cunny because he likes cunnilingus, the act of bringing a woman to orgasm using your mouth on their genitalia.   
It takes me to places I never knew could exist. Sometimes I see stars with the wave of absolute pleasure it makes me feel, and it always ends with him kissing me on it delicately as the twitches die down and the feeling of anticipation builds in my tummy over what is about to come next. 

He clasps his thick and warm fingers with my own as I climax tonight, and looks up to watch me. I look back and try to keep my eyes on his own as it feels so intimate. Its a good one as I haven't been touched in six days and my eyes involuntarily close over, my back arching as he struggles to keep me in place, my toes curling on the mattress as it clenches my entire womb in achey tight bursts of pleasure. 

*

I'm tasting myself in his mouth so sudden, metallic and salty and so improper. His tongue that was exploring my flaps of flesh but a moment ago, now massages against my own as his damp beard scratches my face. 

"Dollllly .... sweetie ..." he manages between kisses. 

"Your mouth, put it on me sweetheart. Taste what I got", he instructs.

I'm dutiful, and I'm already making my way down his body as he manoeuvres himself flat on his back. He's hairy, a Jew after all with dark spatterings on his chest and around his navel, leading with that happy trail to his manhood where it gets more unruly and coarse. I love to wash him here and I may even do so tomorrow whilst the children take their naps. I always love to take care of my man and when he takes a soak I like to scrub his back, wash his underarms and balm his beard afterwards. 

In the tub when I start out he's always soft, relaxed and natural and I love him that way. His hair is long at the moment and when it's wet it sticks to his forehead in long dark strands.   
In the bath when his penis isn't erect it looks funny. It's wrinkled and thinner than I'm used to seeing and it hangs low down his thigh like it's sad. My remarks have earned me more than a few sloshes of grimy water when I tell him so and the memories make me smile.   
He always makes me smile, despite the horrors we have faced both separately and together through the world war. Alfie got me through that war, well the last years at least. And the aftermath.   
After his injury he couldn't continue to fight front line and was given other duties in London. He helped me at the hospital during the day when he could and he courted me on the evenings to distract me from the atrocities I had faced. He soothed me, and so I love to soothe him by doing this... 

I take the head into my mouth just a little, wetting the end, which by the feel of it already has its own dampness.   
Tonight I can see well in the moonlight that the head is engorged to a purple colour full of the blood and desire he's had to contain for a week without my service. 

It feels so smooth against my tongue as I run it up the underside where his vein bulges prominently. Root to tip. Root to tip. Like a lollipop, mmmm and just as sweet.   
My hands massage his heavy sack ever so teasingly slow, my mouth making popping noises as I suck and release the swollen head of his penis as he groans above me, his hips bucking involuntarily at intervals when the feeling gets too much for him.   
He's going to explode I can tell, and I can't wait to taste him too. Friends of mine say a woman should never swallow semen, it's an old wives tale that it can induce a deformed pregnancy in the tubes but I'm a nurse and I think that's a load of shit. I've swallowed Alfie's cum for years and it ain't ever happened to me as we have had three healthy babies already to prove so.   
I know he wants another one, he wants a tribe like a proper Jewish family, who usually have at least seven if the woman is capable to carry. He loves me even more when I'm carrying. He says all is right with the world and that life is a miracle, he even sleeps with his head beneath the covers on my expanding tummy for the whole nine month term and I must admit I love the extra attention. He never leaves town unless he absolutely has to for the Bakery business and he laughs and laughs to anyone who will listen that he's got me baking his own bun in my oven. 

I feel a stirring of movement from his length and his noises get louder. He moves my long sleek hair off my shoulder and wraps it around his fist and I can tell that he's close. 

I hear him cry out but it sounds distant, it takes me a second to realise it isn't a cry from his mouth, but one of the children. 

"Fuck don't stop woman" he says in a panic as I rise from the act to listen more carefully.

Then she cries louder, ear piercing and long. The sound of her hunger cry.   
Everyone in this house is forever hungry for me! I think with frustration as I give him an apologetic look, smirking internally at the appalled and grumpy scowl that forms on his face as I leave him to attend to the baby.

"Blue balls woman. Fucking hurry up" he calls after me.


	4. Alfie

I tap my fingers on my bare upper thighs as I lay flat on our bed staring at the drapes above me .  
She's been gone about five fucking minutes but it feels forever and five so I contemplate finishing myself off in order to last longer when she comes back to me, but all I really want is my woman's touch.

She always jumps when the children say how high so I let her be to get on with it. She knows best when it comes to them and the fruits of her labour show because the children are belters and I couldn't love her more if I tried to because of it.  
Dolly is the best mother I've ever had the pleasure of watching perform the role. I knew she would be, she's a nurse and a child of eight younger siblings. She can cook and bake and plan dinner parties, she can keep house, mend and sew, dance, ride horses, sing lullabies and drink any man I know under the table, including me.  
Not to mention her pussy tastes like the expensive honey I lather my toast in and she can ride a man into oblivion with it. 

Well me.. she's never rode any other man and if she did I'd cut their throats for sacrifice. That Jewish prick she was seeing before me floats into my head again and my dick sags along with my gut. Well she's mine now. Only mine.  
She's everything I never even knew I wanted right up until the moment I clapped eyes on her in that tight white uniform on ward four. It was a done deal, she was mine and she was always gonna be. 

Fuck she needs to hurry up, I could bust a load on the bedspread just with the thought of her hair in my lap, head bobbing and pretty almond eyes watching mine whilst her mouth is packed full of my cock.

"Yeaaah" I say in the darkness. I wanna fuck her pretty mouth so bad.

My hand feels underneath my length for the heaviness that rests there, my fingers rubbing and massaging rhythmically as my eyes close over and I think of her huge breasts, porcelain white and rounded in that pink silk, nipples hard, skin awash with the gooseflesh I give her.  
I want her to finish what she started because I'm horny as hell and the woman has a duty to carry out, since I've done my bit already. 

I get up after another few minutes when she doesn't return, huffing and puffing. If she's fallen asleep in that rocking chair again she's gonna pay for it with a nice spanking to her bottom cheeks, and i'll make them pink to match that nightgown. 

"Love?" I whisper, approaching Emmys door. Maybe I should have put some clothes on. I don't wanna scare the children with my monstrous cock, I think, chuckling away, but I'm here now, naked flesh and all.  
I put my head around the door and squint in the low light of the oil lamp. 

She's not asleep, but she's divine.  
She's sat rocking and soothing Emily who's mouth is still at the breast, suckling gently. My daughters eyes are closing over and my wife looks lovingly on as she coos and strokes the child beneath the curls into a slumber. 

Ah fuck if I didn't love my life since she came along. Soft bastard I am and Dolly's to blame. On Monday I'm due to pagger a few scrawny cunts at the bakery to make up for my weak attitude of late. I need that, for hell's sake my palm is twitching for a bit of uninhibited violence instead of a sweet caress. It's built in me is that side, I'm a crazed madman and I always have been, but I only rain it down on those who deserve the onslaught. She's proved I can be more civilised when I wanna be, her and those bairns that's she's rearing for me, they make me human. Or at least they make me act like I'm one.

Anyway enough of that. 

"You coming back to bed Dolly?" I whisper softly, entering the room and walking over to them both, my eyebrows wiggling suggestively at her sweet face. 

"Yeah Alfie, she's sound asleep now" she says with a contented sigh. 

I think I ought to make myself useful so I gently ease Emmy from her arms, swaddling her in the blankets beneath her and moving over to the cot where I lower her down carefully. I look back to Dolly who is readjusting her nightgown over her breast and shake my head. 

"Oi, don't be doing that sweetie, you ain't finished feeding the hungry with those puppies yet" I say with a wink, blowing out the oil lamp and moving back around to take her hand in mine. 

She's weary and pliable as we shut the door and I think maybe she could just lay there for me to rut in, if she's not got the energy but once the door is closed I feel a sharp whip on my bare bum and a giggle as I look back at her. 

I wince audibly. Fuck me that bites that does.

"Listen sweetie, I might make you regret that..." I say, my eyes flashing as a wave of arousal washes over them.  
She just fucking spanked me, didn't she? Well I'll be damned. That's my job. 

I loom over her body and force her backwards against the wall, my hand against her throat. My fingers squeeze the pale column of her neck, tight enough to make her pulse race beneath my touch but still soft enough not to make her struggle to swallow. Because I want her fucking swallowing, my warm and salty semen all over her lips as it trickles down her throat.

"Your a naughty, naughty little girl Dolly... " I groan into her ear as I reach with my free hand to lift her silk nightie and fumble between her legs. I sink a finger inside her and she moans. I can feel the vibration of her voice against the hand holding her throat and my dick throbs, hardening fast between us, I need her in bed, before I spill on the landing floor and wake the children and neighbours with the guttural roar I'm trying hard to contain. 

Wrapping her thigh over my forearm, my grip leaves her neck and I use it to lift the other thigh, pinning her to the wall with both her legs in the air. 

"You want this?" I ask, pushing my hardness against her sex. It would take but a moment to push into her right now, to fuck her brutally hard against the wall, but that's not what I need tonight. Ive missed her on me. I wanna be belly up with her working me over. We can save the lust fuck for tomorrow evening when I'm taking her on a date she doesn't know about yet.  
A break from the children for her to relax.  
When we've had too many brandy's and Alfie company rum and lose ourselves in a drunken haze of fucking and biting and choking like we want to hurt each other, those are often the best nights, it's just raw carnal lust and base fucking passion. 

"Take me Alfie.... I need you inside me..." she moans, moving her pelvis in circular motions searching for the tip of my cock. 

Fuck. 

I carry her, straddled against me, back towards our bedroom, all the while kissing her madly and desperately, my fingers splayed out on her arse holding her up.  
Placing her down on the bedspread I lower my head and bite the skin at her hip, hearing her yelp and feeling her push away my shoulders.  
"You're really, really gonna regret spanking me princess face..... turn over." I demand.  
She bites her lip before doing as she's told which is wise because I would've made her do it otherwise, my palms going mad.  
When she's flat on her belly she looks back at me and I can't restrain myself any longer, I've got a fire in me that wants to explode and she lights the match every fucking time. Our rawness is base, we need to mate. Hard. 

I slap her. Once. And she gasps and then groans, but I start to massage the stinging flesh and lower my head down to kiss it. She watches me as I slap again, harder, directly over the first blow and her arse jiggles as she puts her face into the pillow to stifle her cries.  
I'm awash with heat, the sweat building over my forehead, my mouth dry and my heart beating. Her arse is red raw, and I can see my finger marks, it's making my balls tingle with anticipation. 

"Get up and hold onto the headboard woman... you're gonna have to grit those teeth of yours" I growl, gritting my own as she complies quickly, raising onto her knees and crawling up to the top of the bed. That's how I know she wants it, I mean I imagine if she wanted slow and tender tonight she would tell me but she always seems to want what I want, she's always right there with me.  
I guide myself to the split of her arse, running myself down it and towards her sex. 

"Listen, sweetie.. you gotta be holding on tight, yeah? Hold tight."

She nods and I line myself up and push inside.

Sweet Jesus Hail fucking Mary.

I make a seething sound and it mixes with her wail, as I press harder until I am all the way up inside her body, and my end is touching some hot fleshy wall inside of her. 

That's what I wanna bang the end off.

My palm, still stinging from the hard slaps I gave her, travels sensually down the length of her spine and she pushes back harder on me as I see her fingers on the headboard splay as she shivers.  
I always told her my cock would make her shiver.  
Holding her hips in my palms I start to thrust harder than I ought to even do. I can hear the echoing slap of my balls hitting her folds, my upper thighs hitting the backs of hers, flesh on flesh, slapping noisily mixed with our groans. We're too loud, we're being too loud but fuck if I can help myself because all I can feel is delicious pressure in my groin, licking and dancing down my spine, making my heart beat, my chest heave, my brow sweat and my mouth run away with itself like it has a habit of. 

"You think you can slap me huh? You think I won't fuck your brains out for daring to?" I say, my eyes closing over intermittently before opening to watch where my cock disappears beneath her arse. 

I hold onto her by her shoulders now, banging myself into her body hard and sharp and I register her intakes of breath as I do it, working me up even more.  
"Is it nice Dolly? Tell me it feels fucking good... it's good yeah? it's fucking more than good ainnit, I'm gonna bust a dam and flood you baby. You want that huh? You gonna like that?" I stammer as I feel my dick throbbing, I'm so close. 

I don't know if she wants to suck it from me or wether she wants my seed again, but I better find out because it's coming and it's coming fast. Did she come yet? I can't think straight. I need to come, the pressure is enormous. 

I pull out from her beautiful shapely curves because I want to kiss her. Suddenly and desperately I want to taste her mouth and look into her eyes as she makes me come undone. 

"Come here sweetie" I gasp as she turns and lies beneath me, her hair so messy from where I was holding and pressing the back of her head from behind but a moment ago.  
She spreads herself wide for me to settle between her legs and I rub myself gently across the lips of her sex, pushing past the labia and inside her once more. 

"Alfie ..." she groans, moving her hand to touch herself where we meet.  
"That's my job" I say huskily as I lick my fingers and place them against the hood of her clitoris, thrusting inside her more gently as I rub circles into her, soft pressure then hard, soft, then harder still. In less than a minute she's pulling me by my neck down to her face, holding me steady against her mouth and pecking little kisses against the hair that covers my large lips, undulating, grinding and writhing until she breaks. 

She breaks hard, I can feel the twitching against the shaft of my manhood, pulling my seed from me as my balls shrink up tight, releasing my love inside her as we collapse in a heap of sweaty limbs on the bedspread. 

"That should do it." I gasp as she lays on top of me a second later, her head on my heaving chest. 

"Do what Alfie?" She asks sleepily. 

"Baby number four, a new batch made to order " I say with a smirk. 

She laughs hard. That's because I'm funny.


	5. Dorothy

I can hear my baby crying, and the only thing thats stopping me putting down my powder press to go and tend to her is the accompanying gentle lull of Alfie's mothers voice trying to soothe her back to sleep. 

I am late. Of course, because I'm always late. With a household to run, three young children to care for, a dog to feed and walk and a list of community duties as long lasting as my patience, I am always and forever late.  
My Alfie once joked that I'd be late for my own funeral one day, to which I replied he'd be early for his if he didn't shut his cheeky mouth.  
My sisters always gasp in horror when they witness the manner of tone I often use with my husband. My mother does too. And that's because women, Jewish women especially, are supposed to be socially inferior, they are only supposed to speak when spoken to in front of company, because it's considered respectful. But the difference in our marriage is that Alfie respects **ME** , he respects my right to say what I feel and if anything he encourages it. I doubt he'd love me half as much as he did if I was a shrinking wallflower like my sisters.  
A force of nature like Alfred Solomons needs intellectual stimulation and he also needs light-hearted sarcasm because he has a busy head that focuses on the dark if he doesn't keep it nice and light. Its only his ailing body that prevents him from running around erratically all hours of the day keeping himself distracted from his own mind. I'm sure glad in a way that I didn't know him before the war, when he was a young man, because according to his mother he was hurtling towards self destruction and utter damnation at a hundred miles per hour back then. She said the war calmed him down, caused him to grow up and become a business man, and made him see things differently but that's because the blown up soldier I met on that ward was all but a bloody shell of a man. Shell-shocked. A haunted soul he was, like all of them were and will always be.  
It took me and my good laughs and loving to coax out his enjoyments again, and focusing on charming and winning me over kept his mind from the trenches. Occasionally it drifts back there, to that harrowing place, I know it does, I feel his twitching nightmares at the side of me, but they are far and few between in the midst of our happy family life. The children are his solitude as they are mine. He concentrates on us, the Bakery and the Synagogue now and tries to leave the rest behind him. The war was good for one thing in my eyes, and that was bringing a nurse and a fighting man together to create hope, laughter and brand new lives.

I smile to myself as I slick the rose blush across my lips and dab the excess with a hankie, and then I hear the familiar click of his cane on the polished wood of the hallway. He hates me wearing make up, because he says it's expensive and unnecessary. He says I'm like a work of art anyway and so he probably won't be happy to see me caking it on thick but I want to dress up as it's been a while. A minute later I hear his heavy breathing at the door frame, his coat rustling behind me. 

"Woman? I'm about ready to eat the mare that's impatiently stamping its hoofs on the cobbles outside the winder' .... What's the chances of you avin' any salt and pepper for seasoning in that bag of face cement?" He jests, his face stern but his eyes twinkling with his sarcasm. That was his polite way of telling me to hurry the fuck up. And if I was anyone else he would have left without me because he doesn't like to feel hungry my Alfie and we have a table booked. He also hates being late and I know in spite of not turning round to face him that he's animatedly looking at his gold pocket watch that he takes out of his pocket far too often to make a point. 

"I'm coming Alfie" I reply, putting in my favourite earrings that dangle down my neck and glint in the light of the oil lamp. My hairs in a knot at my nape and I adjust the loose tendrils that I'd teased free intentionally and then stand up. 

"Yeah well that's the plan for later sweetie, but right now I don't actually want to eat that scabby fucking horse out there because If I was a betting man...."  
he pauses, his lips twitching guiltily and I give him the eyes because we both know that he is far too much of a betting man. In fact, coupled with the excessive whiskey and rum consumption it's probably his biggest vice and the cause of most of our arguments.

"I mean If I was **STILL** a betting man, I'd put a wager on it not being at all kosher. Fucking thing. Scabbier than me!" He remarks with his eyes wide, pulling me close to him. I laugh then, at the reference to his psoriasis, and have to admit it does look worse than ever at the moment. There's flecks of it in his copper coloured beard.

"Is Emmy asleep? It's gone quiet now, I was afraid she'd wake the boys and we'd never get away." I sigh, letting him trace a ring-clad finger down my neck towards my cleavage. His feather-soft touch makes me shiver. I'm used to him being rough.

He chuckles as he takes a peek down the front of the frock below the lace trim with a look of absolute approval and then pats it back into place.  
"My lads wouldn't stir if a steam train blasted its way through the nursery wall and rung its siren about their cute fucking earlobes. You know that yeah? So stop fretting woman .... come and get ya shawl and bonnet on and let's get the fuck out of this house. Me mother has it all covered innit?!"  
I sigh again as he lets me go and I walk in front of him down the stairs because he takes ages getting down them with that stupid stick. By the time he's at the bottom I'll be ready to go. From the entrance hall I can hear him mumbling curse words that would make the entire synagogue blush but there's no point at all in telling him not to use foul language when we go uptown tonight, I might as well tell him not to breathe. 

*

I order the mackerel and then I ask him to swap with me because it tastes far too strong and it's making me queasy.  
A few seconds later I'm eating fluffy pastrami pancakes drizzled in a sweet oil despite the fact I make a far better version myself for a lot less money than what Alfie will be paying for these ones shortly. 

He's surpassed himself this evening though, the place is gloriously upper class, the atmosphere friendly and the drinks seem to be going down far too nicely as well. We probably don't fit here. We have money, but it's earnt money, we're not aristocrat old money like the rest of the Jews around us with their silver spoons and Alfie looks shabby even in all his finery. It's what I love about him.  
I've had two Gins with just my starter and I feel a touch more than tipsy by the time the main course arrives. I need to pace myself. A hungover Dolly will be no good to anyone tomorrow and I'll need to be lively as I'm running the collection at the synagogue with Alfie's sister Ruth. 

"The boys are at Sunday school tomorrow yeah?" Alfie asks, devouring the last of the mackerel before casting aside the bowl to make a start on his stew.  
I wonder why I thought it was a good idea to order fish when it's making my stomach churn as he chews it. 

"Yes. Young Abe won't be there though, he's in the hospital with a shattered knee cap" I say shaking my head as I recall the incident that happened earlier in the week to Alfie's teenage nephew. 

"What did the little fucker do this time?" Alfie says, his eyes glinting with a mischievous flare. He dotes on his sister's son as though he's his own, because Ruth is widowed now and Alfie is the closest thing to a father that little Abraham has got. The boy is also more like his uncle than our own sons are in terms of his tendency for scrapes and getting into trouble. However it's obvious to folk that Alfie is proud of the fact the boy seems to be his little protégée. 

"Fell off the back of a wagon meant for town. Stealing bread Alfie. Of all things." I inform him, with a disapproving cast down of my eyes as I pick up my spoon to eat soup. Poor Ruth was so embarrassed.

I drop the cutlery again with a clatter as Alfie admits a roar so loud half the fellow diners turn to watch the commotion and my cheeks flush with a warmth of my own embarrassment as he draws attention to us. I hate attention.

"You mean to tell me.... I own a bakery. I own a fuckin' Bakery and my own family are robbing bread off the back of town wagons that I wouldn't class fit to feed a duck?" He heaves, his eyes glassy with his amusement. 

"That little fucker. He's done that on purpose ain't he? Wind up merchant he is. Like his uncle Alfie. Maybe it's time I get him in my warehouse, slap an apron on him and make him earn his bread and butter from now on" he nods.

"He's fourteen Alfie, he needs schooling not working, and we have the money to do it. Ain't no relative of ours getting his hands dirty before his time, education is the future." I nod back, resolute on the matter because Abe has a brain on him and I won't see him waste it baking bread and taste-testing rum for eleven hours a day. 

"He needs a slap is what he needs. A fucking bread thief... hilarious little bastard" Alfie chuckles as the man at the next table clicks his tongue with disgust at the distasteful language that makes up Alfie's vocabulary. He's as unaware of the disapproval as he always is of course, and I'm glad because he'd probably sock the man one between the eyeballs and we'd have to leave.

As the evening wears on I am full to the brim with rich delicious food and my focus is somewhat compromised from the gin. It's been nice to spend time with him outside the confides of the kitchen, bedroom or synagogue and despite my weariness from my daily duties I'm enjoying his company after missing him all week. In fact I'm not ready for it to end yet. 

"You want dessert Dolly?" He asks me quietly, as the waiter takes our empty meal plates and drained glasses. I feel the warmth of his palm as it skirts across my knee under the table, directing it's way up my thigh slowly above the material of my petticoats.  
I look back at him and meet the fire in his eyes and my own flick down to the smirk he's hiding under his thick moustache. He ain't asking if I want any chocolate cake that's for sure, he wants to take me home and have me and my mind flashes with the vision of the previous night when he mounted up behind my curves and went hell for leather. I'm still a little sore from it if I'm honest. But it's now mixed with a delicious tinge of anticipated arousal that I know will bring me more satisfaction than ten chocolate cakes at once when he gets his hands on me.

"What's on the menu?" I whisper, teasing him as his hand travels further up towards my lap and his eyes roam down to my ample cleavage. I stick my chest out discreetly, and breathe deep as he watches it rise and fall. I love driving him crazy, the look of pure desire in his eyes is what gets me through so many nights alone without him when he's gone. 

"Everything." He growls. "Shall I ask the waiter for spotted dick for ya, and I'll be set with the sticky pudding?" He laughs, retracting his hand and removing his wallet to pay the bill. 

"I'll take the dick to go" I say loudly to my husband as the waiter arrives to collect the notes that Alfie places on the lace tablecloth and raises his eyebrows.  
"Go easy on the spotted though" I say, twisting my mouth in mock disgust. "I'll just have it with cream please Alfie." I finish with a suggestive wink as he helps me into my coat.

His loud roar of laughter as we leave ensures the entire restaurant give me the attention I didn't want earlier. Gin sure makes me brave.


	6. Alfie

I slap her shapely fucking arse when we get round the corner where the motor is parked up against the cobble-stepped curb. For being so cheeky.  
I give it a discreet little squeeze too to let her know it's all mine in about half an hour when we get back home, before taking her arm in mine.  
Then I can't stop thinking about her backside and how much I wanna play with it and mould it in my hands like the dough I don't touch at my bakery. Dolly has the palest, roundest arse I've ever had the pleasure of mounting up against, and let's just say the whore houses before the war knew me by name and nature so I've seen myself mounting a fair few arses. Not to mention the ones at Rubies gentleman's club. I shudder at the memories. The smell of sex, brandy and trouble floods my nostrils and I thank fuck I'm not back there with a faceless tart on my lap. My wild oats are well and truly sown, and most of them in that gentlemans club that never saw a fucking gentleman the whole time it operated.

"Are ya cold Alfie?" She asks me after the shudder I make as we walk arm in arm.

"You What?" I ask, realising her eyes were on me as I took a trip down old memory lane, or rather the dark and dank back alley of it. 

"Nah Dolly, you know I'm cold bloodied me. But I say, I do want warming up regardless. You got anywhere toasty I can pop me hands inta ave'ya?" I ask, wiggling my eyebrows at her suggestively.  
"Like in ya britches?" Or better still love, In ya knickers ...?" I whisper in her ear.  
I know she'll pretend to be coy, and I definitely deserve the slap I just got on my arm because we're in public and I've made her blush. However I do know that just me saying it, makes her wet in them knickers that I wanna warm me hands in. I know that with great certainty and I'm no pikey fucking fortune teller.

"Get in the carriage...now" I growl, as I tip my hat to my nephew Goliath who's driving my car for me this evening. Massive fucker he is, like a mushroom, big-headed, grey and grows in the fucking dark. Smells a bit funky too but he's family so I let it slide. 

"Home, Uncle Alfie?" He grunts in question.  
I ponder that, because it's not exactly late. We could go to a bar and make the most of the evening alone as a couple without a baby stuck to her breast. But then I think back to her arse which is currently in my face as I help her up the step and into the back seat of the motor and I know I wanna take her straight home and eat it for my dessert. 

"Home lad." I reply, as I pull myself up with unpracticed difficulty. If my back goes again il be mighty pissed off since the Brandy I had at dinner is dancing happily in my bloodstream and making me want to shag like a young buck. 

As my funky smelling nephew sets off along the cobbled road back to our house I ask her if she's enjoyed her evening. She tells me she has and that it's been nice to relax because she's been feeling sickly the past week that I've been gone and though I tell her it's cos she was just love sick for me, it does slightly worry me. When Dolly gets sick it's like trying to thread a needle in the dark keeping that household running. Fuck if I can do it, those bairns alone would send me off my rocker and I haven't cooked a decent bit of grub since.... well ever. A mans got to stick to what he's good at, and for me that's ruling half of London with an iron rod, or a cane none the less, making and drinking immense amounts of rum, running bare-knuckle fights and licking my wife's cunny. That's it. Sometimes I dabble in a diamond or two, like the one sitting on my wife's finger as it's laced with my own on my lap. 

Shes telling me a tale of woe about the hyperactivity of my sons now, but I can't be bothered listening because I know she has it all covered. Instead, I move her hand slowly up my thigh towards my crotch and press it against the arousal that's appearing from my underpants because I've just been looking at her chest when she spoke and it's been about ten hours since I last had my way with her. By the time I hear her breath catch in her throat and feel her fingers curling around to grip my manhood, I'm ready to have her here and now and I can't wait. 

"You wanted the dick to go sweetheart" I whisper in her ear, my hand leaving her gentle squeezing fingers at my lap and traveling to lift her skirts. 

"Well where do you want it to go?" I ask. My hoarse voice betraying the overbearing lust that's weakening me. I often try encourage her to talk dirty words back to me, to tell me what she wants me to do because fuck if that doesn't make the tip of my cock wet when I hear it, but she rarely dares to. And it only serves to make it hotter when she does. She was innocent when I met her, but when I broke her in I ruined that. And I loved every minute of it too. Now it's only her air of respectability that stops her acting on her lust and not her innocence, because that's long gone.

She's had gin tonight though, which was a calculated choice from me when I ordered it for her because I know how it plays havoc with her senses and makes her uninhibited in her use of immoral language. Tonight, as a result I might just coax a bit of filth from her pretty little mouth and if I do I'm a dead man. I won't last the night. 

"I want it inside me Alfie" she whispers, her hand rubbing at the tent in my trousers, palming the length, cupping at the base of it, driving me fucking mental.  
The overpriced gin was well worth it, it seems.  
My own hand that was fumbling to find her undergarments beneath layers of material slows in surprise at her language and I groan deep and low in my throat because it's made my balls ache. 

"You fucking what?" I growl, my lips connecting with the pale skin of her neck that's exposed due to her hair being tied back neatly. I drag my beard along the pale expanse, feeling her shiver as it brushes just beneath her earlobe. That's my baby's sweet spot that is, and I let my tongue come out and flick against it gently, too gently, in a way that drives her just as fucking mental as I feel. 

"I said I want you Mr Solomons. I want to feel your hardness pushing deep into my softness, I want to feel it go as far up as it will go until it makes me weak." She whispers quietly, as my hand finally connects with the outside of her underwear and then drops dramatically from her body. She's definitely had enough Gin to loosen her fucking tongue. 

"Right!!" I shout loudly, making her jump in surprise.  
"Goliath. Pull over. Pull the fuck over now." I say, louder still.  
The car swerves sharply to the left on my command and my hat falls off my head and onto the floor of the car. I need her right fucking now so I couldn't care less if my head itself fell off and onto the floor of the car and I pull her beneath me roughly by her arms so I can get to mounting her.

"Alfie!!!" She protests, shocked at my audacity.  
"It's passion is'all, I can't help meself." I mutter.  
"You can't stop a vehicle and take me right here on the street! Like a common whore on the side of the road!!" She exclaims in a panic and scrambles for her decency, before she slaps me across the cheek for good measure.  
The bite of it just spurs me on, she knows full well that it always does and if she wants to play those games I'm all for pinning her down and impaling her against her will, because I know she wants it really.

"I fucking well can." I say, fumbling with her skirts trying to get my hands on her warm flesh as she paws at me half-heartedly. If she really wanted my hands off her they would be by now.

"OLD BILL." Comes a sudden deep slur from the front carriage then, which is my nephews not so subtle warning that there's pigs about. We are smack in the middle of Camden Town on a lively Saturday evening so of course there would be and I should know better considering my position in society, namely with the pigs. They'd do anything to reprimand me the dirty offal-eating scumbags. Although they rarely dare to unless they're out in numbers.

I let my weight up from her body and she scrambles to readjust the skirt I had partially managed to get off and clips it back into place before patting down her hair, trying to regain her propriety.  
There's a knock on the window of the back cab then, and we both turn to look at the glass to see an officer in his full uniformed finery stood there with a smug look on his dirty face.  
It makes my boner disappear for one, and my temper rise for another, as I retrieve my hat from the floor and tip it in greeting to the officer that's peering in at me and my wife.

"Move over" I say to Dolly, who swaps sides with me as I wind down the window and give him my best shit-eating grin. Which is funny, since he's the one about to lick arse.

"Can I help you officer?" I ask him, and I see the colour drain from his face as he realises who I am and who he's accosting. 

"Mr Solomons" he stutters. "I erm.... just checking all is good Mr, erm Solomons sir...with the car stopping. People need to get through here is'all ... but if you won't be long I'm sure...."

"Facking hell" I interrupt the fumbling idiot.  
"Only stopped for a second ain't I? The wife's got motion sickness." I nod and he looks across at her sympathetically. If he looks at her again though il clock him one across his jaw.

"Now officer there's no telling wether that's a matter for the councillor, due to all the potholes in the roads and the uneven cobbles, or wether that's my fault, since I rock her fucking world" I say, and finish with a roar of laughter, that has him nervously mimicking me and edging away from the window. 

"Good evening Alfie, have a good evening" he says as he leaves and I tip my hat again.

"Cunt" I say, and spit out of the window as I feel hands dragging me back into the vehicle from the window. 

"Alfred Solomons!!! You drive me absolutely mad!!!! Do you know that? First you risk us getting a rap for public indecency, which would shame my bloody name I'll have you know! I wouldn't set foot in the synagogue again! And then you go and get mouthy with an officer and risk getting yourself banged up for disorderly conduct. I thought these days were behind you?!" She says, every syllable getting higher, and shoutier, every syllable making me harder, and hornier, until I shut her up with my mouth on hers. I love angry Dolly, she sets my blood on fire.

"You're a father!!" She splutters trying to separate us so she can nag some more.

"Call me daddy then" I wink, and she throws me a glance that tells me I'm pushing my luck, but that's what I'm good at. 

"Ahhh c'mon Dorothy, this is a night to let me court you. No kids about, nice food, nice gin, and a bit of a fumble on the way home, when did you get so stuffy?" I goad her, with intent too cos I know she loves to prove me wrong and will pounce on me any second now.

Which she does. 

Her thigh is up by my bad hip before I know what's going on, and then she turns and pushes me back into a sitting position before straddling my lap and taking my hat off my head. With her hands running through my long hair she smothers kisses allover my face, across my nose, over my eyelids and onto my forehead, her tongue coming out to swipe them all gently. 

"I'll show you stuffy Sir Solomons" she remarks, starting to undo the top button of her gown. 

Fuck that though. Ain't no common mucker off the street getting a glimpse of her precious globes, not to mention that police officer that clearly liked what he saw just a moment ago when he couldn't take his eyes off her.  
I weigh up the options in my head as she continues to undo her buttons. We could stay here and live in the moment, which would mean letting them all see the live sex-show, or I could get Goliath to take us straight home. That option however, would mean the savageness must end and we would have to tether the lust and noise since my mother's in my fucking house with the children sleeping and so that's not an option by the time I've finished thinking about it.  
Maybe I could book us in a hotel for the night, there's a nice one not far from here in Kentish Town but we'd have to leave in a few short hours to be back for Emmy's feed, meaning it'll cost me an arm and a leg for no time at all when all I really want is pussy.  
Then it comes to me, and I don't know why I didn't plan this all along. I know exactly where we're going so that I can ravish my wife in every conceivable way there is without being disturbed.

"Goliath" I shout again, removing her from my lap with ease and plonking her down on the seat at the side of me again. 

"To my bakery" I instruct, and the car sets into motion straight away. 

I look over for her approval and she smirks at me with a knowing look in her eyes because she knows what's coming. There's plenty of surfaces at my bakery, and at this late hour there's nothing there but rum and opportunity to get carried away. 

"Dolly? You ready to live up to your name, yeah?" I wink at her, my erection that she's just been sat on, straining my trousers again. 

"How so Alfie?" She asks, like I knew she would. I'm being cryptic on purpose so she'll ask me and know my intentions for her.

"Your name love...Dolly.. my little Dolly. Because I'm gonna toss you around like a _fucking rag doll._ " I growl as I lean over to take her mouth with mine and hear her whimper.


	7. Dorothy

It's only a ten minute journey to his Bakery but it feels like the hours when he's not by my side. I've heard people say that love is biological, but I beg to differ. What me and Alfie have is all consuming   
chemistry that sizzles my senses haywire. It's always been this way and I believe with my whole heart that it always will be. Thus far, the doom of war, the chaos of babies nor separation by distance has proved to dampen it.  
I wonder then if age will, Alfie's a decade older than me with a whole host of injuries and illnesses that have crept up on him of late, including his bad hip, an irritable gut and a spread of acute psoriasis. But when he's with me he's a young buck, a wild one an' all, he seems to have a skip in his very step and the twinkle in his eye outshines the fact that he struggles to chase me round the kitchen and pin me down on the table like he used to even a year ago. However, he'll always have passion, he'll always have humour and by the grace of God he'll always have me. That combination alone will keep him young forever I'm certain of it.

His weighty hand rests in mine in the back of the car, laced together on my lap and I stare at them both thoughtfully. My hand is pale and smooth in comparison, dainty by my mother's genes and laden with a rare blue diamond given to me by Alfie when he asked me to be his 'Ishshah". When it comes to serious matters he has a habit of switching to the Hebrew tongue almost without realising, which contradicts the language he uses when he beds me that would make every brick in the synagogue crumble with embarrassment, like it used to with me.   
He's downright filthy, but I don't see it as a sin, if how Alfie makes me feel is a sin then Heaven can keep the gates locked and I'll stay down in the ecstasy of hell with my loose-tongued gangster and his bad hip.

I chastise myself then as I concentrate on his larger hand, laden with gold rings and scars that tell individual horror stories. What would my mother think about my devotion to Alfie over heaven? My thoughts are momentarily corrupted because I am painfully aroused, and that's my husband's fault because he's plied me with Gin, good food and time away from the chores of the household. Nights like this I can forget that I'm an upstanding member of the Jewish community, forget I'm a full-time mother to three small children and forget that my hands are normally knuckle deep in Lysol or bread dough like my life depended on it.   
The only thing my hands and his are doing tonight is loosing complete control allover each others bodies. Tonight I want to feel his thick, attentive digits go places only he has ever been, and I'm damn near losing my mind with the sheer need for it. 

I must of squeezed his hand that I hold whilst lost in my thoughts, as he turns his head from the window abruptly and looks at me with those grey eyes that seem to hold a tornado in the midst when he focuses them on me. He scans my face carefully as always, reading my expression like it were the Torah itself. There's nothing I could hide from the man when he looks at me like that. He strips me bare with just his eyes.

"You alright Dolly? Ya look a bit flushed yeah? Not sickly again are ya?" He asks me, looking concerned with a tense of his brow. He's always concerned for me and it makes my heart swell that I was able to find a man that cares for me so much.

"If that stew was rancid I'll go back and burn that dive to the ground while everyone sleeps, didn't like the wallpaper anyway, Fuckin' wankers" He winks at me as I stifle my giggle. His wicked yet comical way with words means I'm often getting into trouble for my laughter at the most inappropriate times. 

"No Alfie, I'm not sickly, not unless love-sick is a real thing" I say between sniggers as my hand slowly brings his to my ample bosom.   
His eyes flash then, as I encourage him to palm one of my breasts, the thin linen doing nothing to hide my peaked arousal from him as he starts to massage, his look transforming instantly from concerned to downright hungry. I feel so sensitive to his touch, as always and I think he's swiftly realising my intentions.

"I just want you so bad I can barely breathe" I whisper, shifting over to him on the seat and dropping my own hand to the front of his trousers. I'd tear his belt off right now if I could, but before I can do anything more he stops me, his hand darting from my chest to grip the wrist that had started to tug at his fastenings in order to loosen them. 

"GOLIATH" he shouts suddenly, making me jump. 

"GO THE ILLEGAL WAY YEAH?! AND PUT YA FUCKIN FOOT DOWN. I GOT BUSINESS NEEDS SORTIN'" he barks, as the carriage instantly bumps along faster, taking a sharp left down an alley that causes me to fall into his hulking frame. In the midst of it all he hastily connects his mouth with my own, his tongue wet and warm and his hand finds my breast again, this time of its own accord. 

*

Alfie fumbles with the lock for about a minute before he gets the thing to open, turning to look at me with desperation, his tongue darting out to wet his lower lip before he bites it.   
Mine feel dry too, I need him to wet mine the way he just did his own, tasting me and ravishing me like the last time. Like every time. His tongue is a miracle I've had the pleasure of experiencing over and over and I never knew ecstasy until I felt it. 

He'd instructed his nephew to go on home, which means he had all intentions of chasing the dawn here with me but I made him think again.   
I may be driven to temporary madness by my lust but there's no way I'm doing any kind of walk of shame come the morning. So instead he told Goliath to return in a couple of hours, which should be all that we need considering the level of heat between us as he takes my hand in his and leads me through the dark corridors of his bakery. He flips a switch or two to light us along the way, not that he needs to as he knows this place like the back of the hand that's leading mine, every nook and cranny.

I mean he should, since he designed the internal layout of the place. Buying it cheap during the war, he used it to house recovering soldiers, and with rations low he turned it into a bakery, employing the very soldiers that had lost their livelihood. Before long it was the heart of Camden Town, supplying every family with enough low cost bread to feed them well and until this very day enough of his own company Rum, a business handed down through generations of his own family, to quench the thirst of the entire north west of London. Of course a lot of what my husband does is illegal, but the comfort and security he's brought upon a failing community means that people turn a blind eye, including our fellow law-abiding Jews, including the Police and including me. The premise of the Bakery just takes the edge off the sin of his crimes. What Alfie does away from the home is his business, although I've spent time after time trying to discourage his own gambling and drinking desires, they hardly ever impinge on our marriage or children and so the cogs of his businesses keep churning. 

Brutal, Cockney, Gangster baker with an illegal distillery by day, loving father and passionate husband come the evening. And boy does he succeed at doing both. I'm reminded of his treachery as we hurry past shipment crates and iron machinery, all in darkness, the thrill sweeping my spine as we approach his glass office door. It feels so naughty, to be here in the dead of the night with a gangster, for one thing and one thing only: sinning. Of course in the eyes of our God it ain't sinning now we're wed, but the things Alfie does to me make my cheeks pink with shame regardless of my outward respectability or marital status. 

With the door in view I read the inscription before he opens it with another set of brass keys. Solomons Company Limited. 

There's no fucking limits here though. Not tonight. 

As soon as he gets inside the frame of the door his hat is off and his coat follows. He throws the thick wool onto the floor without a care in the world and sets about his braces beneath it. With them unclipped he starts at the top button of his shirt, whilst he walks around his oak desk, lighting the oil lamp and beckoning me over to him with a crook of his finger as he leans against the wood.   
I do as i am dutifully bound but it's not duty that's causing the throb between my legs as we lock eyes, the room illuminated in a soft orange glow. It's all him. We haven't been child free in months and I've got butterflies because he's going to let loose on me to make up for all of the lost nights he's spent away from my body.

By the time I reach him his shirt is fully undone, the wild hair on his chest exposed to me, the spattering trail of it continuing past his taut and tanned stomach leading into his trousers. I can see his arousal growing, his manhood straining against the fabric containing it and I lick my lips wantonly because I know good and well what's beneath it and how sweet it tastes.

"Baby" he whispers   
His affectionate side teasing me, his strong hands coming around my skirts in a tight grip to pull me into the space between his legs. His index finger lingers over my chest, the built in cups of my corset making the flesh he loves so much there swollen and rounded like globes. The cold brass of his ring makes me shiver as he dips his finger in the valley between my breasts and traces his skin across the tops slowly. I close my eyes and enjoy the feel of him as I sense the unexpected prickle of his facial hair by my lobe. 

"Turn around" he instructs softly, but it's a demand all the same, one that I follow instantly, opening my eyes to maintain my equilibrium. When I'm facing away from him I close them again, as he starts to untie the fastenings on the back of my best dress. He's never been a man of patience my Alfie, he's hot headed and he wants everything right now so it's no surprise to me when I feel the precious fabric tear only half way down because his grappling fingers have become desperate. I whimper my distaste at him being so rash and ruining my best frock.

"Take your fucking dress off" he growls, though I know the frustration lies in the intricate lacing that's halting his satisfaction and not with me. And so I snigger then, as I reach around and begin to unlace with nimble but unsteady fingers, hearing his breath hitch when I lower the dress from my shoulders and expose my pale back to him. Feeling his need pressed against my behind, I shimmy the torn dress past my slender hips, taking my stockings with it, Until I'm standing before him in just my satin panties.

"Good girl" I hear him say, my eyes opening abruptly as he grasps the generous flesh of my behind in both his hands. I turn my head back to him, looking past my shoulder and he instantly takes one hand and places it around my neck, pulling me back to his mouth as he kisses me allover it. It's cold in the room and so already, the heat of our bodies is making the glass panel of his door steam up, hiding us from the view of the deserted factory.   
I feel like I'm going mad with want as he holds me in place, one hand palming my buttocks, the other locking my body to his via my neck, his mouth beginning to roam. He kisses my shoulders, the thick hair tickling me deliciously until shivers run down my spine and into my underwear. I feel myself become slick with moisture just from the feel of his beard, just from being pinned in place and kissed so delicately, being felt from behind so eagerly. Its divine and I can't help but close my eyes again as I feel his hand leave my neck and skim slowly down my stomach, before dipping gently into the front of my knickers.   
His fingers run down the bush of curls I have in there, and into the split of my womanhood in one swipe, dipping two fingertips inside and twisting them into my softness, he lets out a groan so masculine I feel completely and utterly claimed.

"Alfie" I gasp. The feeling so intense and full that I feel on the cusp of release already.

"Shhhh" he whispers in my ear.   
"Let me get you clenching on me" 

My eyes involuntarily roll back as he moves his ministrations to the outside of my body, rubbing in little tight circles at my most swollen and delicate parts. My legs start to wobble, and sensing my loss of control he promptly stops what he's so expertly doing, swapping places with me entirely and hoisting me up onto his desk like I weigh as little as a goose feather.   
I squeal with laughter at my sudden shift in position but he says nothing, his face a mask of seriousness so severe his brow is knitted, his mouth in a scowl as he roughly forces my legs apart and lowers himself onto the floor of his office to get between them. He means business.  
That's when I feel his tongue flick against me, the pressure so delicate it maddens me. Like a soft breeze when I need a hurricane.  
That wicked, wicked tongue. Alfie's best fucking feature.


End file.
